


Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: (with a twist), Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Flirting, Gender and Sexual Politics, M/M, Pegging, Post-Movie(s), SEND ME TO HELL, mechanical bull
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 18:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10747341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: “What are you talking about?” Merlin asks, sitting down and taking a sip of his topped-off glass of bourbon.“Toxic masculinity,” Ginger replies.“And it all started with pegging,” Eggsy adds.In which a Kingsman suggests "doing it in the arsehole." And they're not on the receiving end this time.





	Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the people of Reddit who overwhelmingly support Roxy being alive and to those who suggested a homage to the last movie with someone doing it in the arsehole again…with a twist. Let’s just say Agent Tequila is up for the ride with her Majesty and Goddess and Totally Alive Roxy Morton.

The first thing Tequila says after they save the world is “So, anyone up for a drink?”

“Yes, _please_ ,” Eggsy sighs.

Of course, it doesn’t happen right away—there’s damage control and clean-up and confiscation of Poppy’s notes to contend with—but when everything’s wrapped up, they finally do get that drink. 

The Statesman bar is still miraculously standing and empty for the evening, shut off to outside patrons. Roxy orders a few tequila shots, Eggsy grabs a martini, and Merlin requests bourbon, while the Statesmen get various brands of whiskey or beer. The only person who doesn’t order something alcoholic is Harry, who accepts a glass of water. 

Someone turns the radio to a country station—of course—but no one seems to mind. Ginger and Merlin settle themselves into a booth, pulling out their tablets. Whiskey and Tequila start a round of pool, howling every time the white ball misses or their designated one sinks neatly into one of the holes. Amongst the laughter are Harry and Eggsy, squeezed together in one end of the booth, heads close together.

Roxy sidles over to the pool table, and Tequila looks up, grinning. “Want to be on my team?”

“Hey, then we’re not evenly matched!” Whiskey protests.

“Get Eggsy.”

“ _Eggsy_ is not going to leave that booth any time soon,” Whiskey notes, eyes ticking up to the eleven o’clock position. “But Roxanne Morton, you’re welcome to jump in—if Brits play pool, that is.”

Tequila winks. “I bet you’ll wipe us off the board like you did with Robot Man. Whoo- _ee_. That was some doo-hickey Poppy did to that guy.” 

“Charlie,” Roxy says, then, “and no, boys, I just wanted to give that mechanical bull in the corner a go. Never got a chance to try before Poppy’s goons stormed in here.”

“Aw, shit, no one turned it on,” Tequila says, then playfully tips his hat with a wink. “Wouldn’t be right to leave a lady waiting.”

Whiskey clearly could not resist rolling his eyes this time, but Roxy smiles. Despite Tequila’s born-and-bred cowboy persona, complete with occasional one-hand gun cocking, he isn’t like those arrogant, muscle-flexing boys she had been accustomed to dealing with all her life. “If you will, good sir.”

Leading the way, Tequila kneels, fiddling with the bull before stepping back. The mechanical bull comes to life, red eyes flaring and nose huffing, and everyone in the bar stops and turns to watch.

Eggsy lets out a long, slow whistle. “You go, Rox!”

With a quick glance at the padded mats at the bottom, Roxy slides into the saddle, dominant hand gripping the strap, the other arm raised in the air like she’s seen in movies. “Like that?”

“Yup,” Tequila says, then steps back, holding a remote in his hand. “Now…I’m just going to start you off slow, but if you want to level up, give me a shout.”  

Roxy nods, tightening her grip. “Got it.” How bad could it be, really?

Well, a lot of people _did_ fall off in the first few seconds, she knew. She just had to not be one of them.

“And…three! Two! One!”

And with a loud snort, the bull begins to spin slowly in place, and Roxy tightens her thighs around the bull’s sides just as it bucks sharply towards the front. Lips pursed to not allow a squeal escape, Roxy clenches down tighter, trying to relax her upper body, a difficult thing to do when every instinct is screaming at her to tense up. But it’s like that in a fight, something Kingsman has been training them—never tense, always know that you’re going to get hurt, go with the flow.

The bull snorts again, still spinning in one direction, rocking back and forth, and Roxy allows herself to move—shifting her weight, letting herself get used to how to do this. “Level me up,” she calls.

“You got it!” Tequila presses a few buttons.

The bull bucks again, and Roxy holds on tighter as it begins spinning faster, frantically bucking up and down, snorting angrily through its mechanical nostrils. In the background, the country music is revving up the fiddles, and Eggsy’s supportive yelling seem to be growing louder and louder. Her heart’s beating fast, faster and faster, and she can’t help the big grin spreading across her face.

“How much more?” Tequila calls out.

“The highest!” she shouts over the snorts and country music, sending a cheer through the bar.  

In less than what seems like a few seconds, she goes flying, rolling in order not to crack a tooth on the ground. The floor is well padded, but it’s still a bit of a shock when she hits the ground, right where Charlie had managed to punch her in the side.

“Shit,” she says, wiping her mouth to check for blood.

“You all right?” Tequila asks, extending a hand, and Roxy laughs, shaking her head.

“I’m all right,” she says, “nothing but bruised pride.”

“Aw, shucks, you stayed on longer than most beginners," Tequila replies, grinning. “Shoot, the first time, I tried it on the highest setting and broke my tooth clean off.” He points to one of his front teeth. “Fake one. Whiskey has photos.”

Roxy laughs, then stops herself, years and years of etiquette reining her in. “I’m sorry,” she says, but can’t manage to drop the smile.

“Nah, it wasn’t too bad. Just damaging to my ego.” He raises his eyebrows. “Glad you weren’t there. Hate to humiliate myself in front of you.” He then grins widely. “But I have a feeling I’m already doing it.”

“No,” Roxy says, matching his grin with her own. “Not until you play me at darts.”

* * *

After doing considerably better at flinging sharp projectiles than staying on a mechanical bull—something that Tequila jokingly tells her is part of their trials—Roxy gets a mojito from the bar and slides in next to Eggsy. Now, everyone’s in that friendly drunk stage, so all the tables have been pushed together, forming a hodgepodge—American slang _is_ fun sometimes—of a round table.

Eggsy’s hair is considerably messier, and Harry’s hand is resting on Eggsy’s thigh. Roxy’s just raising an eyebrow at them when Tequila slides in beside her, still smiling, despite his defeat.

“This is what everyone needs after a long day of saving the world,” he says, gesturing around the bar. “A party and a beer. All that’s missing is a shag.”

“Volunteering?” Roxy asks, flicking her ponytail, and Eggsy wolf-whistles.

Tequila visibly startles, but recovers with a slow smile. “You askin’?”

“Well, not like _that_ ,” Roxy says. “I was brought up properly. Allow me to be more diplomatic.” She clears her throat. “So, want to do it in the arsehole?”

Eggsy chokes on her beer, laughing, and Roxy joins in. Harry, Whiskey, and Ginger look on, vaguely confused, but Merlin’s shaking his head.

Tequila blinks, and huh. He’s actually _considering_ , Roxy realizes.

“Well. That was forward.” But he grins. “Yeah. Yeah, but…uh, have you..?”

“Oh, no,” Roxy says, looking straight at him. “I prefer being on the giving end.”

“Oh. _Oh._ ”

Eggsy winks. “Try it, mate. It’s not so bad.” He lowers his voice: “Lube is your friend, though, mate.”

Merlin interrupts with a groan. “ _Galahad_ ,” he begins, “it’s bad enough you neglected to take your glasses off, but to actually have it confirmed—”

Harry’s staring at Eggsy, who looks flushed, but casually dismisses it with a shrug of his shoulders. “But the real thing, I imagine, is better.”

“Gross,” Roxy and Ginger chorus, flicking chips at him, and shaking his head, Merlin leaves, muttering something about getting another drink.

“I wouldn’t be averse,” Harry says, and they both share a surprisingly sweet, almost chaste kiss. “But in both situations, I find that preparation is as essential as a good lubricant.”

Roxy nods, even though it looks like Tequila is already convinced. “The height difference takes some getting used to, especially if the receiver has a good few inches over the penetrator. The solution, of course, is to bend them over.”

“That makes sense,” Eggsy notes, with a faraway look in his eye. “Hits all the right places there. And if you get a chance, try a vibrating strap-on.”

“Yes, it’s good for both parties.” Roxy delicately takes a chip, crunching it between her teeth. “The politics of it are rather interesting as well. Glickman and Emirzian wrote quite a bit about pegging and the social dominance and power dynamics.”

“I read something like that,” Tequila says thoughtfully. “Dan Savage. He believes that all men should try it at least once, as it may introduce them to a new dynamic and perspective on sex.”

“Since men are so afraid of getting dicked up the arse,” Eggsy says, then nods at Roxy. “It’s ‘cause of toxic masculinity and all that.”

“That’s true,” Whiskey confirms thoughtfully, “it’s like…oh, you automatically turn gay if you…” He gestures with two fingers, punching the air upwards.

“Like back in the estates, yeah,” Eggsy says, “how handies were okay, but not, like, anything near the arse.”

“That’s what it’s like in public school as well,” Harry notes.

“It’s interesting how America is one of the symbols of free sexual expression in the world, but are rather puritanical underneath the surface,” Ginger notes, taking a sip of her drink.  “Jackson Katz is also rather interesting to look up as well.”

 “What are you talking about?” Merlin asks, sitting down and taking a sip of his topped-off glass of bourbon.

“Toxic masculinity,” Ginger replies.

“And it all started with pegging,” Eggsy adds.

Merlin closes his eyes.

“Speaking of which,” Tequila says, looking at Eggsy, “how do you know so much about it?”

Eggsy’s gaze flickers to Harry, and he shifts in his chair. “Oh, just…an experience. With a, uh princess.”

“Queen soon,” Roxy corrects.

“Oh, yeah, the coronation’s coming up,” Eggsy says, grinning. “I should see if we’re invited.”

Tequila raises his eyebrows. “How did you…uh, do it?”

“Boys,” Ginger interrupts, with a roll of her eyes, “as illuminating as your stories are, I’ll have to ask to be spared of…explicit details.”

“I’d like that as well,” Merlin adds.

“Apologies, ma’am, mister,” Tequila says, with a dip of his hat. “But I only wanted to ask him about his experience, if only to aid me.”

Roxy smirks.

“Four and a half stars,” Eggsy says. “But if you don’t like it, it’s not for everyone. I mean, length and girth and all that—pretty intimidating at first.”

“What’s better?” Whiskey asks, raising his eyebrows. “Length or girth?”

“Length,” Eggsy says, as Roxy says, “Girth.”

Tequila laughs. “But I’m guessing size matters all around?”

“A gentleman does not make such jokes,” Harry says archly, but Roxy can see a faint smile curling on his lips.

Merlin rubs his temples. “We are not talking about this. We are never mentioning this again.”

“Agreed,” Ginger says, and both share a familiar, commiserating look.

“Not up for the grand tradition of post-victory shag?” Eggsy asks.

Merlin’s eyes are like those of Poppy’s laser-eyed dog robots. “That is none of your business. And I thank you to remember that your business is not meant to be mine.”

Shrugging, Eggsy turns to Harry. “Is he always like this?”

“Don’t blame the poor man, dearest,” Harry says. “He surveyed one honeypot too many.”

Eggsy raises his eyebrows, opening his mouth.

“No,” Merlin interrupts pre-emptively. “Besides, well…”

Ah. The footage won’t be there anymore anyway. That realization dampers the mood considerably, and Whiskey puts down his drink. “Are you going back?”

They all exchange glances around the table, and Roxy sees the weight of the decision and the past few weeks on their shoulders. They’re thinking about home, about the burning rubble and confused journalists and the base being pulled out from underneath their feet. They’re thinking about the stragglers who had been away on missions or were far enough from the shop and mansion and home. They’re thinking about how decades of history, technology, and resources being wiped out in under a minute.

They hadn’t talked about this, not really, but looking at everyone, it seems like this decision was made a long time ago.  

 “We can make a place for y’all,” Tequila suggests, looking at the four of them. “I mean, I don’t think Champ is going to turn down the chance to recruit perfectly good agents.”

“I know,” Eggsy says. “But I know for me, at least…I have to go home. My family’s there.” He then pauses, glancing at Roxy a bit anxiously. “And we have to rebuild Kingsman.”

“Yes,” Roxy agrees. “They need us.” _As we need them._

Whiskey lowers his eyes in disappointment, but nods, understanding. “Sounds hard, though.”

Egsgy smiles, a bit faintly. “Well, we’re used to hard.” 

"If you need us, feel free.” Whiskey then takes off the shiny gold _S_ pin from his lapel and slides it across the table. “There’s something on the back you can call.”

Eggsy takes it, looking amused, and Roxy leans over to see tiny numbers etched into the metal. “It looks like it’s the same across agencies, yeah?” He flips it between his fingers, watching it gleam underneath the overhead lights, then passes it to Roxy. “Is there a passcode?”

“Yup,” Tequila says, popping the _p_. “Why wouldn’t there be?”

“If it’s something like _yee-haw,_ ” Roxy says, “then I will lose all the respect I have gained for you.”  

“Close,” Whiskey replies, with a perfectly straight face. “It’s _ride ‘em, cowboy_.”

“You’re not serious.” Eggsy turns to Ginger. “He ain’t serious, is he?”

While Ginger replies, Roxy turns back to Tequila, elbow propped on the table. “So, is that a yes, or did Eggsy and I scare you off?”

Tequila grins so widely that she can see the flash of his canines, then adjusts the brim of his ever-present cowboy hat. “Not at all. My answer? Yee- _haw_.”

“All right,” Roxy says, with a smirk, then stands up, flicking her ponytail around her shoulders before heading for the door. Tequila pushes his chair back, gliding after her as if locked in a trance. “And don’t worry, I’ll be better riding a cowboy than that bull.”


End file.
